Hutch is a Vampire
by Hutchie
Summary: For some reason, Hutch isn't eating.  And he's acting very strange, too...


i

Author's Note:

I started this story ages ago, but never got very far. Then I found out there are other vampire stories in the fandom, so I put it off longer, not wanting to copy someone by accident. But, in the end I wrote it anyway. It wasn't my intention to copy anyone. My original idea was to use the vampire plot to explore more of the feelings from "The Fix," but it didn't work out exactly that way./i

Hutch is a Vampire

by Allie

"You sure you don't want something to eat?" Starsky held out the second burger he'd bought, waving it under Hutch's nose and raising his eyebrows enquiringly.

"Ugh. Get it away." Hutch pushed the hand away, making a face.

"Sheesh. Not gonna force ya." Starsky moved away, eating his own burger. He kept hold of the second one, and sent Hutch another enquiring glance before he ate that one, too, but Hutch hadn't changed his mind.

He shot Hutch another glance. "You know, Hutch, I don't think I've seen you eat anything since Van died. You're not starving yourself, are you? You know that wasn't your fault, right? Right, Hutch?" He nudged him.

Hutch cast him a look of utter scorn. "Stop eating for that…harpy?"

Starsky gave him a strange look. "That isn't like you, Hutch. You were real sad when she died." He moved over to him and took his arm, looked at him with concern. "Are you all right? Is this starting to really hit you now?"

Hutch pulled away and shook him off. "Get away." He frowned. "It's not that-not at all."

"Then what? Hutch?" He accepted the brush-off but kept his eyes on Hutch, watching.

Hutch hunched his shoulders. "Just-stay away from me, okay?"

Starsky stared and stared.

"Starsky, do you mind?" His voice rose with the snap, and he gave his friend a bitter glare. "Leave me alone. Stop staring at me."

Starsky averted his eyes, looking down. "Sure, Hutch. Sorry." He turned and walked away.

They didn't talk to each other much for the rest of the day. Hutch stayed silent, and Starsky did, too. He brought him coffee once, though, and stood by him, leaning against the counter.

Hutch held the cup, looking down at it as if drinking would be the greatest chore imaginable.

"Not even coffee, Hutch?" asked Starsky, quietly. He sounded mournful and worried.

Hutch put the cup down, and turned away. He scraped a hand back through his hair and grimaced. "Just let me go, huh Starsk?"

But Starsky wasn't good at letting Hutch go. By the end of the third day, he'd tried to get him to eat seven different times-and each time Hutch refused. "I ate earlier," he said, or, "Not now. I'm not hungry." Of course some of the food Starsky offered him he hated already; but when he turned down veggies, or beer, or some of the luscious, fresh fries from Starsky's plate and still acted disgusted, Starsky grew really worried.

#

"Hutch."

"Yeah?"

"Somethin' wrong? You sure seem to want to get away from me today." He dodged right again, and planted himself in front of the Hutch.

Hutch grimaced and ran a hand back through his hair. "Starsk, if you'd just let me go-"

"Sure, Blintz." Starsky stepped aside, looking at his face, hard. "But if something's wrong-"

"N-nothing's wrong, Starsk." He escaped into his apartment. You would almost think he'd-fled.

After standing there for long moments, Starsky left in his Torino, driving the loud car away, down the street. Then he parked on a side street and came trotting back. He wrapped his sweater around himself closer, because it was a cold evening.

He climbed the stairs to Hutch's place on the toes of his sneakers.

He fumbled with the key, unlocked the door, eased it open and walked in.

Hutch was standing at the fridge. Starsky's face relaxed into a smile. "Well, good, I'm glad to see you're eatin' something after all, Blintz!"

The effect of this pronouncement was intense: Hutch jumped, choked, and hurriedly shoved something back into the fridge. He turned away, wiping his mouth on his hands. "Starsky, what are you doing here?" He sounded both enraged and really nervous.

"Hey, relax. Just wanted to check on you, make sure there wasn't something going down. Don't worry, I'm not gonna bug you. I'll leave again if you want. You've just been acting strange, and I had this feeling…"

"Oh, so now you're spying on me?"

Hutch moved to the sink, washed his face and hands, and when he was drying off, finally turned to face Starsky with something of the righteous indignation he'd been trying for finally showing in his face.

Starsky put a hand on his arm. "No. Worried about you."

"Well I hardly call sneaking in-"

Starsky drew back and gave Hutch a somber look, weighing. "Never had to sneak. Used to be I'd just be welcome." He waited a moment, but Hutch didn't say anything. "Well." Starsky gave him a nod. "That's the way you want to play it." He turned with an appearance of nonchalance, as if heading back towards the door.

Hutch didn't try to stop him.

"If that's the way you want to play it," repeated Starsky. "-then let's see what can tempt the Blintz to eat!"

"Starsk, no!"

Hutch tried to head him off but it was too late; he ran towards the fridge and yanked it open.

"Starsk-" pleaded Hutch, catching hold of his sweater and trying to pull him away; but it was too late, and the sweater was too stretchy.

Starsky stared open-mouth, his eyes bugging out of his head.

"What's wrong with you, Blintz! You got some kind of eating disorder? This is disgusting! Juicy, raw liver? Somethin' red in a jar-what the hell's wrong with you?"

He turned a freaked-out expression on his partner and best friend, and saw the haggard, guilt-ridden look on Hutch's face. The paleness, the circles under his eyes-

"I wanted to tell you, Starsk," he said, so softly. He reached out and put a hand tentatively on Starsky's arm. "I tried to think how-"

"Oh, hell, no." Starsky yanked his arm free. "You can't be! They're not-they're not REAL!"

"Starsk-it's not my fault. She-she came back. She bit me. I tried-I couldn't stop-"

"Get away- vampire!" Starsky yanked his arm free, and headed towards the door.

"Starsk!" pleaded Hutch, following him, his voice rising with a sound like despair. "That's why I was afraid to tell you!"

Starsky slammed the door and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest, trying not to tremble.

His partner on the other side would go back to drinking blood, would go back to whatever else vampires did. Starsky swallowed convulsively. Not…Hutch. Not him.

On the other side, he heard Hutch sigh. It must be a loud sigh, to make it through the door.

He didn't try to follow Starsky, and, after all, he hadn't done anything else different, hadn't acted dangerous-he'd just wanted to go away by himself as soon as possible. And drink blood.

Starsky tried to swallow down the nauseous, bilious taste in his throat, and thought, _Okay. Blood. I can deal with that. If it's the only thing that's different…._

All the same, he had to force himself to turn around, and walk back in through that door. And he halfway wished he was wearing garlic.

There wouldn't be any garlic in Hutch's fridge now. He'd emptied out all the weird foods he used to eat, for the even weirder ones he now ate….

"Okay, buddy, sit down and tell me. All of it. What's different, and how long? And is she still out there somewhere, on the loose?"

Hutch gulped, and sat down, and nodded his pale head. "She-I don't know where she went. But she's not in her grave anymore."

Starsky watched him, looking for signs of difference, of danger. He still just looked like Hutch-a frightened, miserable Hutch who hadn't eaten properly in days. Was he drinking enough blood?

"Where do you get it?"

"Butcher's shop."

"You eating enough to stay healthy? Did you visit a doctor, see if anything can be undone? How about Huggy? Maybe he can try his contacts."

Hutch nodded. "I-went to the doctor. My body temperature is lower than normal. I'm-I still have a pulse. Except for my low body temperature, and low pulse, I'm normal as I ever was. I didn't mention the bite, or the-the blood. It's the only thing I can eat nowadays, Starsk. Everything else turns my stomach. I mean, this does, too, but it's all I can literally eat without throwing up."

Starsky had a sudden sharp, mental image of Hutch bent over a trash can, losing his lunch; eating in hungry desperation the foods he used to love, but being unable to handle a single bite. It made Starsky feel a twinge of protectiveness, and guilt for trying to feed him earlier.

But he just swallowed and went on. Like a cop. "How many days ago, and what were your symptoms? And is Huggy finding anything?"

Hutch shook his head. "Not yet. He's-trying hard. He's freaked out too, and he's been putting a lot of work into this, calling everyone he can think of, and he knows lots of people. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Starsk, I-"

"How long ago?"

"-didn't want to frighten you." Hutch swallowed. His eyes looked a little sick. He looked down quickly, his big hands resting awkwardly in his lap. "Three days after the funeral. She came back here, and bit me. I thought it was a dream. She was angry-she also slapped me around a little. She'd gotten a lot stronger, Starsk, and I couldn't fight back. At first I thought it was a dream-but then she was on top of me, drinking my blood, and-and it hurt. It couldn't be a dream. I woke up, and looked in the mirror, and the marks were already fading."

He took a jagged breath. "I-I can't explain it, Starsk, but I felt different already. I could barely drink my morning coffee, and pretty soon I couldn't even stomach water, just-just blood. I've got to drink it, or I feel hungry for human blood. It's disgusting, though." He swallowed, and looked at the floor, as if he couldn't bear to raise his eyes to Starsky's.

Starsky wanted to reach out and comfort him, but he didn't want to touch a vampire. Even a Hutch-vampire. So he contented himself with saying, "Any other changes, Blintz?"

Hutch looked up hopefully at the old term of endearment. "I'm getting stronger, I think. Wounds heal faster. I'm not-not hurt by the light, though. At least-not yet." He gulped. "I don't know how much more I'll change…" He shuddered.

And now Starsky asked the question that was hardest, but that he needed to know most of all. "Anything I can do to help?"

The question made Hutch blink. "Oh, Starsk, stay away from me when I'm hungry! Your blood smells so good."

Starsky blinked, drawing his head back a little. "It-smells good?"

Hutch nodded.

"You can smell it from here? In my veins?"

Hutch nodded miserably. "And you smell delicious. But if I bit you-"

"You mean you've thought about it?"

"-then you'd probably turn into one, too. And I can't do that, not to you, not to anyone. I've got to stay in control. If-if you have to, will you…?" He looked up, his eyes pleading: don't let me become a monster. Take responsibility for me, if I have to die. Don't let me kill anyone…..

Starsky swallowed hard, and looked away. "Don't talk nonsense, Blintz." His voice was very brusque.

This was happening too fast, all of it. Hutch couldn't be a vampire-he couldn't! And he couldn't be thinking about biting people or dying, either.

They had to get this under control, and fast.

Only trouble was, for one of the most dreadful times in his life, Starsky had no idea how to do that. No idea at all how to help Hutch.

#

The next few days were awkward at best. Starsky kept a close eye on Hutch, but at the same time, he kept his distance. He couldn't bear the thought of Hutch as a vampire. He'd only halfway believed in them before, but that half of him had been a part that yammered with fear at the thought. That wacko who'd killed those girls…he'd been a vampire. Or had he? Either way, this was Hutch, Hutch his partner. He couldn't be one of those wicked creatures of the dark.

Yet when Starsky looked over at his partner sitting across from him at his desk, all he saw was pale, sweaty hair that was messy, tired eyes, a depressed and discouraged Hutch, banging out his report slowly. He didn't look up under Starsky's searching eyes, and he didn't talk to him much, either. It was as though he was also trying to create greater distance between them.

Starsky couldn't forget what Hutch had said about Starsky's blood smelling good.

Starsky wanted to fix it between them, but most of all he wanted to fix it for Hutch so he wouldn't be a vampire anymore. He contacted Huggy, and their brief talk discouraged him as much as it must have done for Hutch. Huggy was afraid, and he seemed to have no clue, which was unusual for him. Huggy, with all his contacts (legitimate and not) was their best source both for information on the street, and for information about strange happenings, like Papa Theodore-related stuff.

But…apparently not vampires, not REAL vampires.

Starsky had always thought Vanessa was the type to prey on people…but he'd never expected her to be a real, literal vampire. She used to drain Hutch in some ways-he'd come from home looking really discouraged and down on himself sometimes-but that was supposed to be long gone. Now, she'd somehow come back from the grave and stolen more from him than Starsky had ever thought possible: Starsky's trust.

It wasn't fair not to trust Hutch; he'd been honest (well, once he was caught, anyway!), but how could you trust a vampire? How could you?

He just hoped they figured something out soon. He didn't think he could work with a vampire Hutch as a partner. How could you ever trust him? Suppose Starsky got hurt on the job, and started to bleed, and…

He shuddered just thinking about it. It made his skin crawl.

#

The fourth day after he knew about Hutch being a vampire-and the third night after he'd drank far too much trying to get to sleep-he went to pick Hutch up, still feeling headachy from last night. He parked crookedly outside Hutch's place and honked his horn, squinting at the bright sunlight, even from behind his sunglasses.

Hutch didn't come.

Frowning, feeling grumpy and grouchy, Starsky at last started out of the car to fetch his recalcitrant partner.

Hutch was packing. Starsky gaped at the sight of it: the tall blond man frowning and stuffing clothing haphazardly into a suitcase.

"Hutch?" Starsky stopped in the doorway, suddenly unsure.

Hutch looked up at him, a frown creasing his forehead. He put down his handful of clothes and ran a hand back through his hair. "Starsky. I'm glad you're here."

"Oh? Are you, Hutch? 'Cuz it looks like you're skipping out on me." He took a step into the apartment and realized he was angry, really angry the way he rarely got: dangerously angry. He didn't want to turn it on Hutch, but it was already aimed there, at his stubborn, leaving partner.

"Starsky!" Hutch let out a frustrated sigh, raised a hand as he spoke, gesturing with his words. "If you'd let me explain…"

"Let you _explain_? Why you're leavin'? Go to hell, _partner._" He turned and ran from the apartment. He slammed the door shut behind him so hard it bounced open again and slammed against the wall, making a loud sound where the doorknob hit.

Starsky stormed down to his car and kicked one of the tires, so angry he was shaking, could barely see. Then he climbed in, and sat behind the wheel. He put his hands to his face and tried to calm down.

And waited for Hutch to follow.

He told himself, _If Hutch doesn't follow in another minute, I'll go. He's not really Hutch anymore, if he won't follow me. Just another minute…._

At last, Hutch came, but it took much longer than it normally would have. He was carrying a suitcase, crammed full.

He looked a bit red in the face and he was sort of keeping his head down the way he did when he was embarrassed. He climbed into the car slowly, all awkward limbs, banging his suitcase on his knee and against the car.

Starsky winced inwardly, hoping Hutch wouldn't scratch the paint. But he kept a dignified silence, not willing to break his silence for that. Besides, if Hutch was really leaving, Starsky's paint job was the least of his concerns.

Hutch ran long fingers back through his hair. "Um, if you'd just d-drive me to the bus station. I'm leaving town." He spoke almost firmly. But his voice was quiet and soft and it gave Starsky such a pang, a helpless feeling, to think he'd never hear that voice again, if Hutch really left.

"Dammit." He slammed a palm on the steering wheel-and hissed through his teeth at the pain. He'd hit too hard; fireworks went off in his hand.

"Oh, let me see." Hutch seemed to forget his distance as he caught Starsky's hand, turned it over and looked at it. "It's all right. Don't hurt yourself over me, huh?" He gave Starsky's palm a soothing pat/rub, and then looked up at him. Hutch's eyes were self-conscious, and held an apology. "I'm sorry Starsk, but I can't bear the thought that I might let you down now that I'm like this. And it'll affect my work. It's-it's starting to hurt my eyes, when it's sunshiny."

"So wear sunglasses," snapped Starsky. He pulled his hand away. In one part of himself, it felt really good to be comforted by Hutch, same as if nothing had changed. In another part, it made his flesh crawl. He wanted to wipe his hand on his pants, but he didn't dare. That would really hurt Hutch.

Hutch seemed to sag in the seat. "Starsky, I-it's not that easy, okay? I'm afraid I'll hurt you." He looked up, and Starsky was shocked to see tears in his partner's eyes, swimming there unshed. He wore such a look of pain and indecision.

"Hutch." Starsky took a deep, shuddering breath. "I don't know what could hurt me more than you leaving."

For a moment, they stared at each other in silence. Starsky looked at Hutch, the pale, haggard face before him, so stressed and tired. And he could see Hutch studying him just as closely.

"I don't want to go," said Hutch finally, almost a whisper. His hands squeezed the handle of his suitcase.

"Then don't," said Starsky. "We'll figure something out. We'll-we'll make it work. Because nothing's worse than losing you." As he said it, he realized he meant it from the bottom of his heart, and that was why he'd been so afraid and sleepless these last few days.

Hutch gnawed his bottom lip. "Even if-what if-?"

"We'll figure it out," interrupted Starsky. "It won't come to that."

"But-Starsk, what if I lose control and bite you?"

Starsky took a deep breath. "Then we'll be vampires together."

Hutch looked him with mingled relief and awe, and such affection that Starsky would never believe his partner could hurt him.

"It's nice of you to say that, Starsky, but think about what you're saying. Really think about it. We don't even know what the changes will be, once they've finished. Or anything, really. We don't-"

"Hutch," repeated Starsky calmly. "I'd rather be a vampire with you than live without you."

That time, Hutch believed him. He reached across impulsively and squeezed Starsky's hand, smiling. "It won't come to that," he promised fervently.

"But if it does, remember. I mean it." He squeezed Hutch's hand in return.

Hutch slipped on his sunglasses, and they drove to work. And Hutch smiled all day long, a smile as bright as the sunshine.


End file.
